Ethan stood in frozen observation, his mind reeling. This was the second time in almost as many hours that he’d seen someone gunned down in front of him, and realization settled in like a lead weight. His earlier speculation that Tobias’s files held something significant had only been a hunch. Now he knew with certain dread that something very serious was happening in New York.
And he’d landed right in the middle.
12
Open and Shud Case
Checking into the hotel for a few hours had helped Ethan reclaim his bearings and a plan. He closed and locked the door marked 109 with a key that was held hostage by a large and gaudy pastel blue placard then walked to the front office to check out for the day. He would probably return later tonight, but since his life had been altered and he was on the move he couldn’t commit to coming back.
Returning the key to the front office less than half a day after checking in didn’t seem out of the ordinary for this motel; most people frequenting the place rented by the hour. Ethan got in the car and drove away from The Cozy Clam and its garish sign advertising color TV and vibrating beds.
It had been the scummiest location he could find on short notice and the last place anyone would think to look for him. He’d figured that switching up his routine would be a good plan. Just being on leave was already a change of daily habits, but in addition to the change of locale, he might need to start alternating the use of his car and the city metro. Just in case.
It was still early. Perhaps he could use the extra time to dig further into his uncle’s files. Ethan adjusted his course and headed to the nearest public library.
As always, parking was terrible when he got there, but he managed to snag a spot close to the building. After grabbing his things from the passenger seat, he got out and was locking the door when he looked up and let out a curse. This was a no parking zone. Of course it had been too perfect.
He didn’t have time for this shit. Ethan glanced around. A Jeep Comanche was parked behind his Mustang, and a Buick LeSabre sat in front. Both held lovely little tickets between the wiper blade and windshield. He snatched the ticket from the Jeep and put it under his own wiper blade. He could have dealt with the situation later, but given the circumstances he felt he deserved one less headache.
What had his uncle’s last words meant? Ethan still felt infinite confusion as he again inspected the contents from his uncle’s safe; like the first time, he was having no luck putting the jumbled pieces together.
He’d laid the items out in neat piles on the library table. The newspaper article about the plane crash was on top of one stack. This time he noted that the number “136” had a faded circle around it, signifying its importance to Tobias. But why? It had been simple enough to track down another copy of the original article on the library’s microfiche files and have it printed out. The slight difference between the headlines almost went unnoticed, but when Ethan rescanned the newly printed version, it jumped out at him then in big black letters on the splash page: ‘TOLL RISES TO 134 IN COLLISION OF PLANES OVER NEW YORK CITY’.
Frowning, he propped a fist under his chin and stared at the discrepancy. This added yet another unexplained piece to the strange puzzle. Where and who were the other two people? Was his uncle’s copy incorrect? For some reason this inconsistency brought to mind the conspiracy theories of the Kennedy assassination and the questionable photographs of Lee Harvey Oswald that some people claimed were doctored. He looked again at the copy from Tobias’s safe.
This makes no sense. He placed the library’s version on top of his uncle’s original and picked up the old, musty Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam. As he gently opened the ancient looking tome he took care to examine it closer this time. He noticed a portion of the last page had been removed — not sliced clean, but ripped away, as if in haste. On the inside back cover of the book a seemingly random series of letters were scribbled upon the yellowed paper.
Ethan jotted the strange jumble down in his notebook:
MRGOABABD
WTBIMPANETP
MLIABOAIAQC
ITTMTSAMSTGAB
He decided to return to the odd combinations later, when he had more time to try to decipher their meaning.
The last item left in the back of the book was a tiny strip of neatly folded paper with torn edges. He unfolded the paper; inside were two lonely words:
He noted the jagged pattern of the ripped edges and held the paper against the last page of the book; the rip lines matched up perfectly.
There was only one other sheet of paper inside the book — a note written presumably by Tobias himself. It read: “Look into the ‘Tamám Shud’ case, Australia 1948.”
Ethan put down the paper and stretched, extending his cramped legs for relief. Then he rose and headed for the main desk where a petite college student with braces sat engrossed in a book titled Salem’s Lot. He could see that the book had been dog eared numerous times along the way and Ethan couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to finish a novel with all the intrusions throughout her day.
Her name was Lucy Nevares, and she had been the most competent and useful member of the library staff, despite her young age. He’d already called on her several times for help and her assistance had been invaluable. Ethan hated to be the interloper yet again, invading the innocent looking girl’s quiet moment on duty, but it was her job and she’d seemed more than happy to oblige him with the research tasks he’d given her.
He rapped softly on the counter and cringed when the girl jumped in her seat. “I’m sorry to bother you again Lucy, but I need another microfiche pulled from the archives.”
“Oh, no problem, sir. That’s what I’m here for.” Lucy grinned brightly, giving him an eyeful of shimmering metal.
Ethan handed her the paper where he’d written down the date of the periodical he needed. She took it from him and flashed another gleaming smile.
“Be back in a minute.” She slid out of her seat and disappeared through a pair of swinging doors, Salem’s Lot put on hold once more.
13
A Case of Read
The happy faced Lucy Nevares had returned with a copy of a 1948 newspaper article from Adelaide, Australia, which he’d read and reread numerous times. It described the mysterious death of an unknown individual referred to as The Somerton Man. The only thing Ethan gleaned from what he read was just more questions with no answers in sight. The article contained much of the same information from Tobias’s documents, along with additional photographs, one of which was that of the mysterious dead man.
Ethan flipped through his uncle’s things and found a photo from a different newspaper clipping. It displayed the area where the body was found, with several onlookers standing by. A circle had been drawn around one of the onlookers, who stood off to the left in a sideways stance with his arm out in front of his face to block the morning sun.
Thanks, Tobias, it all makes perfect sense now. Oh, wait — it doesn’t. These random pieces of information seemed relevant to each other, but the dots weren’t connecting. If Ethan didn’t know better, he would have thought Tobias was baiting him from beyond the grave. He cast the newspaper and clippings aside and rifled through some of the other documents in his uncle’s portfolio.